


Run Boy, Run

by StylishChocobutt



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Relationship Not Until Far Later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StylishChocobutt/pseuds/StylishChocobutt
Summary: At seventeen, Prompto has spent his entire life within the confines of Zegnautus Keep. He knows he's not supposed to dream about the outside world, but he can't help it. Luckily for him, Aranea isn't about to sit around and let him suffer within Niflheim's grasp. AU Where Prompto's grown up in Niflheim and escapes to Insomnia, before meeting a certain lazy prince who shows him life isn't just about weapons and orders.“I want you to run, kid.”“What?” Prompto blinks, hugging the oversized scarf closer to his body as he stares up at her.“I said run, do I really need to say that twice?” She didn’t. Prompto ran. Ran faster than he’d ever run before, and not even the thick drifts of snow were going to stop him this time.





	1. Chocolate Bars and Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I should be writing System, but I really wanted to write something like this after Royal Inconvenience finished. It will be Promptis later on (much later on!), but I haven't decided how far nsfw it'll actually go. :) Tell me what you guys think! This is my first attempt writing in first person, too so I really want to see peoples opinions on whether it worked or not!

It’s cold.

It’s always cold.

Barely any sounds escape the confines of Zegnautus Keep; a citadel of iron mazes and unspeakable experimentation in the heart of Niflheim, in Gralea itself. A compound considered by many to be entirely impenetrable. The height of the Empire’s power and an incredible show of strength and authority over the citizens that lived beneath its shadow. Or, Prompto assumes it has a large shadow. He assumes that it towers over the rest of the city, leaving people staring in both awe and fear. He assumes all of this. Why? Because he’s never been outside.

It’s okay, really, it’s not his job to go outside. His job is to wake up at 0600 hours, get ready within a swift ten minutes, and report to training on the lower levels of the structure. He’s not alone; there are a handful of other trainees here too. They probably have names, fears, wants, dreams, but talking is prohibited. And breaking orders leads to being decommissioned; and that is bad.

Really bad.

The day starts off just like any other day. He’s awake at 0600 hours, not a second or a minute over. Perfectly on time. Swinging his legs over the side of his bed - a cold structure of iron with a single lone mattress and sheet – Prompto pushes himself up to his feet and wanders across to the solitary stack of draws on the other side of the room, tugging free his grey clothes for the day. Grey’s a common colour in the Keep; it designates their worth. After all, if they were the same colour as the walls and floor; are they really much different from those objects in the eyes of the Empire?

It’s probably treason to wonder that. But Prompto’s good at that: wondering.

By his count, as of today, he’s seventeen years old. Probably. I mean, who actually keeps track of that sort of thing? But hey, he’s caught a glimpse of one of the confidential files during his last check up with the surgeon and his date of commission had been jotted scruffily on it.

Raising a hand to rub the grime away from the mirror, he’s greeted by the familiar pale features and constellation of freckles that mar his face. He’s not the only trainee with freckles, but they feel like an imperfection. The children who performed better in training don’t have freckles. They can run, jump, duck and swing a sword perfectly. Those who do have freckles? It’s like an omen; constantly tripping over their own feet with weapons, and unable to perform hand-to-hand combat in the slightest.

Changing into the drab clothing and stepping out of his room, Prompto pads his way down the hall way; bare feet tingling with each touch against the cold steel beneath.

It’s quiet this time of the morning, the only other figures at the MT units guarding the hallways. They never move, and it’s quite freaky really.

Prompto hates them.

They don’t really do much, but they hurt when you’re pit against one in training.

Speaking of training, the hall isn’t far, and Prompto’s soon stepping up to the elevator that drops down into it. There’s a Magitek unit guarding it; which steps forward the moment Prompto gets close.

“Identify yourself.”

Same old, same old.

“NH-01987.” Prompto replies. Here, that’s his name. A bunch of letters and codes that designate him as property to Niflheim; the other trainees probably think it’s normal. It feels normal. Or well, it had done.

Up until he’d gotten his hands on something special.

Underneath his bed and well out of sight of the cameras, Prompto has hidden his prized and only possession: a crumpled up page from some silly comic about four guys who go on a road trip to save the world.

It’s only a page, but one thing stands out the most to Prompto on that page:

Freedom.

Nothing but the open world and no steel walls to hold them back.

It sounds like a really cool life; and it’s one that Prompto yearns to have. Sure, his official code is NH-01987 but in this comic, the guys have really cool names. So he’d made one for himself: Prompto. Of course, he’ll never admit that to the other trainees or instructors; lest he be considered faulty and decommissioned. Still, it feels good. Really good.

The unit lets him pass with a curt nod and Prompto steps carefully into the elevator, reaches out and presses the button to descend to a lower level.

It’s just as cold as Prompto steps out into the training level, already able to hear the clash and hum of weapons in the distance as he pads down the first corridor to the large hangar at the end. Sure, it was probably originally meant to hold some of Niflheim’s tech, but for the moment it served an entirely different purpose entirely: training the new recruits.

Or, if by training, it meant getting his butt handed to him ten times over.

That’s usually what happens.

But hey, it beat being at the top of the class. Those teens were sent up for ‘further training’ and as far as Prompto could see, they’d never come back from that. Maybe they were living a nice chilled life outside the Keep, enjoying the world-.. Prompto doubts it. Wishful thinking, and all that.

The hangar’s super big, and there’s already a group of trainees stood in a line. There’s a bunch of broken Magitek Mech parts in front of them. It’s probably a simple enough task: first person to fix the broken parts into something that functions. Prompto’s pretty good at that, there’s something reassuring about being able to break something down into the simplest of pieces before building it back to what it originally had been.

Something’s different this morning, Prompto realises as he kneels down at his pile of scrap and awaits the order to start.

A tentative glance up is enough to confirm his suspicions; his gaze immediately falling on a stranger stood towards the back of the hangar. The first – and intrusive – thought that comes to his mind is that she’s pretty. Really pretty. Machines probably shouldn’t have those thoughts, and he quickly pushes it aside, wiping it from his memory. Whoever she is, she’s a far higher rank than he is; dressed in classic Imperial armour with the insignia of the Empire embroidered into the cloth.

“Begin.”

The order is sharp and breaks him from his thoughts, immediately drawing him back to reality and back to his instructions. Plucking up a screwdriver from the pile, he sets to work, occasionally stealing glances around him; at both the other trainees working away and at the woman a short distance off.

She seems bored; or at least, his lessons on human emotional states point towards that. The way she’s leaning lazily against the wall, both arms folded across her breastplate as she scans over the trainees. There’s something cold and stern to her gaze though, something that puts Prompto’s gears on edge.

It’s even worse when she realises he’s staring.

When she looks his way with an eyebrow briefly raising.

A tightness forms in his guts and he quickly looks back down again. Down at the pile of scrap. It’s stupid, but his hands shake slightly as he desperately reaches for one of the metal plates and begins to screw it onto the adjacent part; it’s not the fear of having been spotted staring, it’s the realisation that he’d been distracted. Distracted enough to set him behind the other trainees, who were already moving onto different parts.

“Five minutes left.”

That’s fine, he can do it in five minutes. It’s only a case of attaching the ventilation vents to-

Prompto’s hands pause as he scans over the pile, once, twice more. That previous tightness in his gut only worsens as realisation sets in; there’s no ventilation panel. No, that can’t be right, there has to be a vent – everyone else is doing just fine, right? He’s stopped working, gaze frantically searching over his own pile, then over the other trainee’s piles.

Sure enough, he can spot a few vents.

“NH-01987!”

Boots stop in front of him and panic has him dropping the screwdriver in hand. He’s messed up. He’s really messed up. Still, something in the back of his mind has him sitting up straight and looking up to meet the masked face of their instructor; dressed in white Imperial robes that just about brush over the cold floor.

“Y-Yes, Sir!” He blurts out, voice cracking briefly with that same disheartening realisation of where this reprimand is about to go.

“Why have you paused?” His voice is tense, angry, Prompto realises.

Still, maybe there’s just some kind of mistake, right? “There’s uh, there’s no ventilation panel.”

There’s a drawn out pause as the Commander looks over the pile in front of the blond, before reaching down-

And pulling free a ventilation panel from underneath the one he’d just been working on.

“And what is this?”

That’s.. Impossible right? He’d just looked there. There was no way he’d have missed a panel like that, totally no way-

“I asked you a question.”

Prompto doesn’t dare raise his gaze again, now staring dumbly down at the pile before him. “A ventilation panel..” He murmurs, shakily and barely audible. They’re going to decommission him- that’s it, isn’t it? All over a panel.

“Speak up!”

By this point, the other trainees have paused, already looking over at the commotion. If Prompto was paying more attention he’d have noticed how two of them were just about holding back triumphant grins.

“Ventilation panel, sir!” Prompto repeats, panic lining his tone far more than he’d intended.

Another pause. It’s agonizing, as Prompto waits for the commander’s next words. “I’ll ask again, NH-01987, why have you paused?”

It’s a trick question now; there’s no correct answer. Only the humiliation as the other trainees watch on with amusement. It’s a kill-or-be-killed situation, or in most cases decommission. It’s no surprise that the trainees sabotage each other, but it would be even worse to call one of them out on it. They’d won; and that was just the way things ran in the Keep.

“Stand up.”

Prompto stands; silently berating the way his knees threaten to give way beneath him as he straightens up and raises his gaze to the masked instructor before him.

“Return to your quarters. This failure will not go un-noted, unit.”

Failure.

Just one more to add to a growing list; a list that wasn’t going to grow much longer at this rate.

“Yes, uh, sir.” It’s murmured, and it’s probably lacking the intended formality and resolve as expected in this situation, but the commander doesn’t mention it, already turning back to the other trainees and barking orders. Luckily, he supposes, that leaves Prompto to make his own way back across the hangar, barely thirty minutes into the day. New record, great.

He doesn’t dare look back as he heads for the stairs this time. Maybe a few more steps will clear his head enough to work out exactly what point one of the other trainees had managed to switch out his vent panel.

Luckily for him, the staircase appears empty enough; no clang of boots from above nor any familiar hum of Magitek units standing by. He knows he should have paid more attention to the task instead of being distracted by the unknown female who’d caught his gaze briefly. He knows it’s stupid to figure all of this out now, there’s no erasing that failure from his ever-growing record, there’s no way they’re going to let him advance any further with so many dismissals.

He knows what happens to units who are dismissed too many times; how they never come back. How rumours float around about incinerators or being thrown to the blizzards. How some end up as practice dummies for new Magitek units or how others are sent to the labs below the Keep; where no one knows what happens there. Nothing good, Prompto’s sure.

There’s no sound as Prompto slows to a halt on the third floor of stairs, back brushing against the cold steel wall as he leans back. He’s not even aware as the world spins slightly and he slides to sit against the floor, tucking his legs up to his chest and burying his head away from the world. Breathing hurts, it’s hard to control.

Something’s wrong.

There’s a strange tightness to his throat, and a panicked knot in his stomach – this has happened before. A couple of times. He knows how to deal with it, he does. Head down, focus on something else- anything else. The comic, the comic book page.

And that’s what he does; focuses on the bright coloured comic page that’s hidden away in his room, that single page that taunts so much freedom in front of him and yet he can’t bring himself to give it up. He can picture the soft lines, the smiles on the character’s faces as they camp out at night, huddled around a fire; the warmth of which Prompto can’t hope to imagine in a place such as Zegnautus. But still, he tries. He tries really hard.

It’s slow, and it feels like an eternity has passed before the pain and discomfort begins to slip away; surrendering itself to thoughts of a better life.

But what jolts him back to reality isn’t the absence of that;

Nor is it the clang of approaching footsteps; heels, if he’d been listening close enough.

No,

It’s the sudden shock of cold as something’s pressed against his cheek; startling him into lifting his head and focusing his blurred vision on the figure stood over him.

The first thing he sets eyes on is the chilled water bottle that had been thrust in his direction; the source of the slight cold and damp mark now tingling on his cheek over his freckles.

The second thing?

It’s the female from before that’s stood over him, her free hand on her hip and a scowl on her expression; but there’s something softer there too, something hidden beneath that cold exterior.

“You going to just stare at it, kid?” She asks impatiently, a small cloud of condensation rising into the air as her breath meets the cold chill of the stairwell. Her emerald gaze is piercing though; and it almost feels as if it cuts right through him; a chilling enough sensation that has him grabbing for the offered drink with a sheepish grin.

He’s uncapping it before he remembers to mutter an appreciative, “thanks.” Tipping the drink back to his lips, it’s pure relief as it washes away the previous dry sensation that had overcome his throat. It doesn’t wash away the guilt of his failure, but it’s better than nothing.

But it’s not just that; it tastes good. Like, real good. He’s seen these before, offered in machines around the Keep, but those machines require these round, circular pieces of metal that Prompto doesn’t have.

He doesn’t realise how fast and desperately he’s drinking it before it’s too late; and he’s coughing, spluttering as he catches his breath between gulps.

The woman plucks the bottle from his grasp, and there’s a strange emptiness in its place as Prompto does his best to control those coughs.

“Shit, I didn’t tell you to drown yourself with it.” She rolls her eyes, moving to crouch in front of him. It’s a good thing too, as Prompto’s pretty sure he’s stuck down here now; stuck coughing under the weight of his previous guilt.

It’s a good minute or so before his body finally stops convulsing and the coughs cease. Amazingly, the woman waits. Prompto doesn’t know why; he’d expected her to take off the moment he’d taken the bottle in the first place. There was probably a rule about accepting stuff like that from the outside; but he’d been too thirsty to care. Not just that though, there was always a lingering hunger, too. If anything, that drink had only worsened that sensation and Prompto’s pretty sure he’s not getting a meal tonight.

The woman passes the drink back, and this time Prompto takes more care with swallowing it slowly. Eventually, the bottle’s empty.

“You good?” She asks, finally.

“Yeah-, uh! Yes, ma’am!” Prompto swiftly corrects himself, raising his ragged sleeve to wipe at his mouth. She’s dressed in such expensive gear so surely she outranks him. Still, his comment only serves to add amusement onto the woman’s expression.

Had he said something wrong?

“Ma’am? That’s cute, blondie, but cut the formality.” She moves to stand, before offering out her free hand to him.

Dumbly, Prompto blinks and tries to hand the bottle back.

She rolls her eyes, huffing out a sigh. “Offering you some help up, kid. Unless you fancy adding broken leg to your list of achievements today?”

He didn’t.

Getting to his feet was harder than expected, but with the woman’s help he was soon stood steady. Or well, as steady as could be expected. His ‘rescuer’ so to speak pulls her hand away and rests it back on her hip once more, eyes surveying him as her expression finally softens.

“Not a talker, huh? Name’s Aranea. Some idiot up top stuck me on bench duty so I figured I’d take a wander through the keep. Didn’t expect to run into recruits.”

Recruits? Oh, trainees. That’s probably what she means.

“Got a name? Or shall I stick with something else? Talker, perhaps?”

Prompto’s pretty sure that’s supposed to be a joke. There’s a couple of those on the comic book page; and they’re funny. He doesn’t get this one though and doesn’t make a move to question whether it’s supposed to be amusing or not.

“NH-01987” He replies instead.

Aranea blinks, that eyebrow shooting up again. “The hell is that? I asked for a name, not some code.”

“That’s uh, that’s my commission number, ma’am- I mean, Aranea.” Prompto explains, suddenly questioning whether this woman really is a higher rank than he is, or not. Surely everyone knows that the trainees are coded, right?

“Commission number? Shit, no wonder this area’s restricted. Guess I can thank that creep for an upgrade in security clearance…”

Prompto isn’t sure who the ‘creep’ is, or why she wants to thank him, but what he is sure about is that she has no clue what part of the keep she’s stumbled across. Maybe she’s from one of the higher floors, one of the floors where the trainees are prohibited access to?

“Okay blondie, so what, no name? Just numbers?” She asks again, returning her gaze to him.

He could say it. He could say Prompto. But what if this is just another trap? Instead, he shuffles awkwardly on his footing and stares at the floor, shrugging his shoulders before offering a verbal response. “NH-01987.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” There’s disappointment in her tone, and Prompto wonders whether he should have said something else.

There’s another beat of silence and Prompto’s pretty sure she’s staring at him. He doesn’t dare look up, he’ll do it if she orders him to because orders are absolute, but for now, he’s content with staring at the floor and hoping this new problem will just go away. Even if he is grateful for the drink.

If she’d been waiting for him to speak, it’s not long before she gives up. “Okay, no name. Guess we’re sticking with blondie. You heading somewhere? Looks like those shits in the hangar gave you a rough time of it.”

“My uh, my room. I have orders to-“ Prompto starts, but Aranea’s scoff interrupts him. Whatever she found amusing about that, she doesn’t elaborate on, and is already turning away to step up the next flight of stairs. She gets about half way before pausing and glancing over her shoulder.

“Well, come on then? You’re the expert here, ‘less you’ve got something better to be doing?”

Oh.

She wants to see his room? Huh, maybe this is some kind of maintenance test after all; which immediately has him worrying. What if the comic page isn’t hidden away enough? If she spots that, he’ll be decommissioned for sure.

It takes a moment, but he joins her on the stairs and takes the lead slightly, both hands curled into nervous fists at his sides.

As they walk, she keeps asking questions. Prompto’s not sure he likes being asked questions, it feels as if she’s trying to trip him up or get something out of him.

“You’re what, fifteen? Sixteen?”

“I was uh, commissioned seventeen years ago, ma’a- Aranea.”

Wrong answer, she’s frowning; even if she isn’t looking directly at him. “Commissioned, huh. Who commissioned you?”

“Niflheim.”

“That’s a place, got a person? A name?”

Prompto’s not sure, he doesn’t answer. Apparently, that doesn’t deter her from continuing.

“So Niflheim, then, commissioned you to do, what exactly?”

“To follow orders.” Prompto replies; he knows that one. That’s the most important thing to do, he must always follow orders.

“And your orders are?” She pushes. Prompto’s beginning to see that every question is just followed by another, then another.

“To return to my quarters.”

Aranea barks a laugh and Prompto visibly flinches; again, he feels like that was the wrong answer, but apparently his reaction was enough to draw her attention and gaze to him once more; this time, it’s slightly apologetic, before she returns it forward once more as they make their way through the quiet corridor; the only sound breaking the silence being their own footsteps. Or, mainly Aranea’s heels in this case.

Eventually the silence is broken. “Could use a drink…” Aranea remarks as they pass by several inactive Magitek units; whose purpose is to repel anyone without the correct clearance to be on the floor. Prompto’s never seen those ones move before, but the weaponry on them is enough to take down a mech; rocket launchers and state-of-the-art sniper rifles.

His thoughts are drawn back to the bottle though; the water that he’d finished to greedily and he can’t help but feel guilty for that. Because now she doesn’t have a drink. Maybe those bottles are rarer than he’d thought, maybe that had been her only one and he’d wasted it;

Prompto halts his pace, gaze falling back to the floor as he bites back that realisation. It takes a moment for Aranea to realise the sudden lack of companion, and a good few loud steps clang against the floor before she finally glances back.

“What’s got you so shook?” There’s confusion in that tone; Prompto doesn’t know why – isn’t it obvious? He’s messed up again.

“Sorry.” He apologises, fingers clenching into the balls of his palms at his sides. This could still be a test, a test he’s failed. What if he was supposed to refuse that drink?

He can hear the creak of armour as Aranea turns, then the sound of her steps as she moves over to him.

She’s stood before him, and there’s no way he’s looking up to meet a gaze of disappointment.

“You always this apologetic?” He can practically hear her rolling her eyes on that question.

“Your uh, the water! I shouldn’t have- I didn’t have orders to take it, and you need it so- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He’s rambling, he knows he is, but that same panic from before is creeping up in the back of his mind. Two failures in one day wasn’t going to be taken lightly.

The last thing he expects is to feel the cold grasp of a gauntlet around his chin, nor for Aranea to tilt his head up; forcing him to look her in the eye:

What he really didn’t expect though was to see a lack of anger in her expression.

“You’re a real odd one, you know that?” She hums, moving her hand to tilt his head to the side, practically examining him as she continues, “You look like someone shoved you out in Leide for a week to suffer; barely any meat on you, kid. Not to mention you’re damn near paler than Shiva. They even feed you in this place?”

Prompto nearly answered that; that they only received food it they had a clean record of success for the day, and a good performance could get you an extra bowl of yogurt or bag of raisins.

Luckily, Aranea’s continuing before he can. “Gave you that water ‘cause you looked ready to pass out and call it quits, and frankly, I didn’t feel like watching that. So quit apologising, it only cost a couple of gil.”

With that, she let go of him and turned on her heel, walking on ahead. “Come on kid, haven’t got all year.”

None of this made sense; none of it at all. He’d made several mistakes and she hadn’t reprimanded him for even one of them, instead she’d gone as far to as share her provisions with him and escort him through the Keep. Or perhaps, he was escorting her, but she seemed pretty eager to push ahead. There was something warm and endearing – an odd and totally unknown sensation to him – about this, and it took him but a moment to sprint forward a few paces to catch up to her, following just aside as they continued on towards his room.

There’s a good bit of silence as they walk, but it’s not like the awkward silence from before. Prompto’s head is spinning, replaying the previous one-sided conversation over and over in his mind like a stuck record.

Eventually they reach the accommodation quarters, and as such, his room. He pauses outside before pressing his wrist up against the panel aside the door; watching as the barcode lights up as it’s scanned, permitting entry to the room.

The door slides open, and reveals the bare and dark space within; the light shining in from the corridor and illuminating the bed and desk. If Aranea’s noticed the slight colour of the comic under the bed, she doesn’t say anything; stood just behind him as her gaze surveys over the room.

He’s about to invite her in, turning and starting to open his mouth to speak, when he spots that she’s shoving yet another item in his direction. It’s rectangular and packaged with colourful paper, there’s a slight sweet scent emitting from it that he can just about pick up on with his own heightened senses.

“Take it. Looks like you need it.” This time, he doesn’t hesitate, taking the small package and turning it over in his hand carefully; as if he expects it to break any minute.

Arms folded across her chest, Aranea steps back from the doorway and spares a glance in the direction they’d just come from. “Better get going. Things to do, places to be and all that-..”

There’s that feeling of emptiness again, forming in the pit of his stomach. Prompto’s not sure what that is.

She’s stepping away from the door and before he even thinks it’ through, he’s calling out: “Wait!”

Aranea pauses, perking a brow at the sudden and unexpected outburst. Prompto doesn’t give her a chance to question it though, already continuing;

“What’s a Leide?”

And that’s his question. Because despite the long and frankly terrifying (in places) conversation they’d had, that was the one word that had stuck out to him; there was something odd about it, a sensation he couldn’t quite place, but something similar to the same feeling he got whenever he picked up the comic page.

Shoving her hand in her pocket and withdrawing a small device, Aranea swipes over the screen before leaning down slightly and turning it to face Prompto; and what he sees honestly takes his breath away.

It’s a picture. Like the one in his comic, but it’s so real, so real that he could almost reach out and touch it. Oranges and yellows mixed in together on a dusty landscape, with the odd trees dotting the area and a couple of unrecognizable creatures in the distance. There’s something big and bright hovering over the picture – Prompto’s pretty sure it’d be too bright to look at in person – but whatever it is, it’s beautiful.

“Leide’s a place. Don’t know what they’ve been teaching you down here, but there’s plenty of those, kid. Places.”

With that, she puts the device away in her pocket once more, reaching out to tap the small rectangle package still grasped within Prompto’s hands. “Now do me a favour and eat that before you really pass out.”

All Prompto can do is now and stare in awe as she straightens once again, before turning on her heel and stalking her way back down the corridor once more. He can’t get that image out of his mind; almost as if it’s been seared into the very depths of his memory – but he’s not complaining. It’s amazing.

A place. Like, the keep. So it’s outside; that place he’s not allowed to go. But that doesn’t matter, because Aranea brought it inside. Brought it inside for him.

Returning to his room and letting the door slide closed, he carefully sits himself down on his bed and begins to unwrap the package before him. The sweet smell only intensifies as he peels a corner of the paper free to the strange, brown block within.

She’d said eat it, and so he did.

There aren’t words for how amazing this stuff is; how it melts on his tongue into a creamy texture that tingles his throat as he swallows it. Whatever it is, he doesn’t waste any time in munching his way through it eagerly, savouring each and every mouthful until there’s just one single piece left in the corner of the packet.

Cautiously and gently, he wraps the paper around that single piece, leans over the edge of the bed, and hides it down there next to his comic.

Leaning back on his bed once more and closing his eyes, there’s an unusual feeling in his stomach; a warm, full feeling that leaves him grinning as he lets himself doze.

It’s a good feeling.

A really good feeling.


	2. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto meets Aranea again, but this time it's on her terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Guess who's back! So sorry about the lack of updates, you'll be getting them reguarly from now on!

The next day, Prompto’s not surprised to find his access to breakfast revoked after his failure; but that’s okay. It’s okay because he has that single piece of chocolate carefully wrapped and tucked away under his bed, hidden beside the comic book. Sure, he’s hungry, and he’s considered eating it more than once as afternoon training rolls on, but he reminds himself that the chocolate’s too important for that: he wants to savour the suggestion – and taste – of freedom a little longer. It’s not freedom; not in a literal case, but it’s something out of the norm, something he can cling on to. And that’s enough.

That hunger though. It doesn’t mean it’s not gnawing away at him constantly; an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach which occasionally has him swaying on his footing. It’s like a big gap that can’t be filled, despite his desperate attempts to fill it with thoughts of sweet chocolate squares.

But it’s okay. This is normal. It’s no different to last week, or the time before that.

However, training’s different today. Which is probably a good thing because Prompto’s about ninety eight percent sure he’d mess up another building task. No, today has them doing laps around one of the lower level hangars; a total of one hundred and seventy circuits around the wide building – which already housed mechs and dormant MT units.

They’ve lined themselves up, dressed in little more than basic training apparel, and are supposed to be listening to the instructor. Prompto though, Prompto’s too caught up in his little fantasy of that ‘Leide’ place. A place he could go. Or at least, a place he could imagine himself going to. He wants to see that bright shape above the ground in person; he thinks it would feel warm, not like the Keep.

The gunshot is what snaps him from that paradise;

And they’re off.

Prompto’s fast, he always has been. What he lacks in practical combat skills he more than makes up for in speed and agility. Okay, perhaps he’s a little wobbly from the lack of sustenance; but that’s something that he has to overcome – it’s a challenge, and it’s one he’s not going to fail this time. He can feel his heart hammering away in his chest, each tug of breath falling in line with each thud of his feet against the cold, hard steel ground; and for a moment he forgets that empty feeling in his stomach, he imagines something else;

He imagines racing towards that shiny ball of light over ‘Leide’. He tries to imagine what it would feel like; would it be hot? Cold? Does it prickle on his skin like the steel frame of his bed on a cold night, or is it warm like the boiler units in the cafeteria?

He’s not sure, but he’s determined to find out.

One day.

It doesn’t take long for him to overtake those ahead of him, already in the lead as they race around the outer edge of the hangar. He’s keeping a good pace though; the last thing he wants is to wear himself out before the end and get over-taken. So, once he’s a good few strides ahead, he slows his pace again to match the others.

By the thirtieth lap, beads of sweat are beginning to form along his brow, forcing the blond to wipe a hand across his face.

By the fiftieth, it’s getting harder to breathe.

It’s a miracle he’s still running on the hundredth.

Only seventy more to go.

They were trained for stamina, speed, accuracy, and strength. Only one of those did Prompto lack in currently, and unfortunately that was the part that made up the majority of his commissioned role. Strength. The ability to swing an axe, sword, mace – you name it. Sure, he’d found a resonance with guns, but that wasn’t what the superiors had wanted.

He wasn’t exactly stealthy, either. Which unsurprisingly, was something the sniper ranks needed.

A hundred and thirty four..

A hundred and thirty five..

The instructors are still watching, arms folded and expressions hard; occasionally jotting down notes into notebooks, scrutinising the recruit’s every moves.

There’s something different about them today, something in their expression. Sure, they’re supposed to be watching and examining the recruit’s progress, but that’s not all; not today. The way they’re tensing each time a recruit stumbles, or even worse- when a gut-wrenching grin slips briefly onto their expressions seeing Prompto keep a steady pace over the others. Whatever it is, it’s not normal.

A hundred and sixty seven…

Everything hurts. Not in a ‘woah, great exercise way’ but more in a ‘pretty sure my limbs are about to drop off’ way. Prompto’s near certain he’s not going to reach the end; at least not without stumbling or falling first.

Yet,

By some miracle, he does.

Sure, he nearly trips his way over the finish line, but there’s no shame in that; right?

“NH-01982, pass! NH-01987, pass! NH-01988, fail!” The names are read out in order, bellowed across the hangar by the tight-lipped instructors, who barely even lift their gaze from the clipboards in their hands.

There’s something new in the pit of Prompto’s stomach now though;

Relief.

And for the first time in those few days, he spends his lunch break in the cafeteria.

It’s a small area, barely large enough to fit all the bumbling recruits in; but with a plate of pasta in front of him – still warm enough for steam to mix in with the cold air – Prompto barely takes note of anything else.

Or well, that’s true enough, until another recruit scrapes a stool up and sits down next to him.

“Nice run, _freckles._ ” The other boy drawls; malice practically dripping from those words- so much so, that Prompto’s pretty sure he didn’t need to look up to see who’s sat next to him.

NH-01988’s sneer is plain on his expression, even more so as the ash-haired boy reaches across to pull the blond’s tray away from him. Two other recruits have joined them at the table – one now sat opposite Prompto, the other to his right.

Speaking to them is probably a bad idea.

Like, a really bad idea.

Still, Prompto’s never been the best decision maker. “Uh, thanks-.. Can I eat?” He stutters out, voice betraying his uncertainty as he reaches forward for the tray.

NH-01988 moves the tray further aside.

“This? Don’t tell me the miracle runner is _hungry?_ I mean, with scores like that, surely you’re getting plenty of this mush?” NH-01988 snickers, raising his own fork to poke absently at the pasta; turning a few shells over, letting the heat escape.

“I mean hell, you even beat me.”

Okay so being fast was great. What wasn’t great? Zoning out with thoughts of a better land and accidentally finding himself having beaten NH-01988 in a race.

“And you know what that means?”

Yeah, Prompto knows. He’s practically squirming under NH-01988’s gaze by this point, making his best effort to stare at the cold steel table in front of him; focusing on the small scratches that run along its surface.

There’s silence.

NH-01988’s still waiting for an answer.

Prompto fiddles at the hem of his shirt before finally murmuring;

“No food.”

There’s a slap on the blond’s back and Prompto just about stops himself from falling off the stool, blinking up at the other male.

“That’s right! And you see, I’m _really hungry_. So, you don’t mind if I just…” With that, NH-01988 sticks his fork into a pasta shell, blows on it lightly, and slips it into his mouth – grin barely fading as he chews.

“R-Right…” Stomach growling and protesting, Prompto does his best to ignore it as he gets up from his stool and begins to move away – refusing to glance back in the direction of his stolen food.

It’s okay though, tomorrow. He’ll eat tomorrow.

  


* * *

  


It’s a month before Prompto see’s Aranea again and a lot has happened. Prompto’s commission status has been upgraded, finally, and now he’s working on the higher levels of the Keep. It’s a simple enough job, something easy for a rookie like him, as the guards and scientists tend to remind him. All he has to do is patrol the corridors and re-direct anyone who doesn’t have the correct passes issued.

Simple right? Yeah, boringly simple. More often than not, when he’s sure no one else is listening, he hums to himself as he wanders up and down the same section of corridors; occasionally stopping to try and pull the hem of his uncomfortable uniform away from his neck. It’s a bit tight, but he’s not supposed to complain about it.

Besides, that’s not the worst part.

No, the worst part is the helmet; heavy, stuffy and uncomfortable. All guards are issued with them and so far Prompto hasn’t heard anyone else complain; he thinks maybe he’s just overthinking it – overthinking how it feels like it’s crushing him indefinitely, how his chest constricts and his lungs ache when he thinks about it too much.

Today’s quiet though, which is great. Most of the scientists are already in their labs and any other workers haven’t made themselves seen in the last hour at least; leaving Prompto time to slow the pace of his patrol, keeping a hum low and soft in his throat as he carefully wanders down one of the darker corridors – barely lit by the occasional red light blinking into existence.

The armours not the only new thing though; there’s the weekly medicinal checks. Being lined up and bundled into a small scientist’s office isn’t pleasant, but taking the dark red ‘potions’ that they’re required to drink is even less so. It’s a vile taste – one that would have him retching, if not for the fact doing so would probably warrant a second dose;

_And no one wanted that._

But the feelings gone as quickly as he’s left that room, and there’s a whole six more days before has to do it again.

Footsteps in the corridor ahead snap the blond’s attention away from his thoughts and back to reality, grasp clenching on his gun slightly as he rounds the corner and-

And almost walks straight first into Aranea.

A rather pissed looking Aranea, to say the least. She stops abruptly in her steps; and even has to take one back to avoid the collision. There’s a scowl on her lips; though Prompto’s not sure if that’s directed at him or not – it’s pretty hard to judge past this helmet.

“Think you could move _any_ louder? Like hell, they should give you things an edgy theme tune.”

_Things?_

Prompto’s not allowed to speak; and if he did, it’d end up recorded and he’d be reprimanded later. Instead, he does as he’s instructed and holds out his hand, gesturing for the access pass.

Aranea groans, shoving a hand into her pocket. “Yeah yeah, I’ve got it, calm your bolts.” After a moment of fishing around in warm looking fabric, she pulls out the card and passes it over.

_Commodore Aranea Highwind. Huh, she’s got a title. That’s cool._

Prompto’s aware the military has ranks; but recruits like himself never really reach above the traditional foot-soldier level. He’s tried memorising the names of the other ranks; but there’s quite a few, and he’s never been that good at studying. Or concentrating long enough to study, for that matter.

“Hurry it up, haven’t got all day.” She mutters, moving to place a hand against her hip with her scowl only further deepening.

Prompto wants to say something, he does.

Even just to ask about that photo from last month; he’s near starved for more information on the outside world, and he really, _really_ wants to know what that glowing light was.

But his orders don’t allow for any of that.

Slowly he nods and passes the card back. They’re on the level above the recruit’s training floors, so her card covers access to here and the ones below. She’d said something about that before; about her access being extended.

Aranea practically snatches the card back, placing it back in her pocket with a huff. She glances once back over her shoulder, as if looking for something, before returning her gaze to Prompto.

“…Going to let me pass then?”

_Oh._

Prompto carefully steps aside, letting her move by him; and she does so as gracefully as ever; a commanding and near terrifying aura about her that Prompto can nearly, nearly see through. It’s like a fog, a haze purposely created to distance people – and he’s seen through it once. Back on that stairwell.

He wants to see through it again; but now, things have changed.

He can’t.

As she turns a corner and disappears, Prompto waits as he listens to the sound of her retreating heels clashing against the cold steel of the corridor.

And then she’s gone.

And he’s still here, vaguely aware of how much heavier his armour feels, how much heavier his _heart_ feels.

With that, he resumes his patrol and the day passes as ordinarily as it ever does; leaving him stopping only a few other employee’s in the halls to check their access passes. You’d think by now someone would have computerised this; but no, he’s stuck doing that job for them. Not that he’s much different from a computer; but Prompto’s not really aware of that.

Dormitories in the upper levels are few and far between, so Prompto’s room hasn’t changed; it’s still the cold box-room with the steel bed, with the comic book and piece of chocolate safely stuffed underneath.

It should suck, coming back to this. But after a day wandering those freezing halls, Prompto’s eagerly pulling his armour off the moment he steps inside. It’s cold; but there’s something oddly calming about how the air pinches at his skin as he drags a shirt over his chest and steps into a loose pair of pants.

Finally, he flops down on his bed, reaching down the gap in the corner to pull the comic page free from underneath. It’s definitely seen better days, but the colours are still vivid and the writing is just about there; though it takes him a while to read it.

Niflheim’s all about weapons, speed and strength. Literacy? Takes a bit of a back seat. Sure, he can read, he’s just slower than most, plus the words are slightly blurred.

He’s staring up at the page when his mind starts to drift; sleep tugging at the corner of his consciousness. He thinks back to earlier in the afternoon – to Aranea and the sound of her retreating heels, the disappointment he’d felt when he hadn’t spoken up. Sure, he’d have been reprimanded for it, but he still-…

He still wanted to know more.

Prompto sighs; the action creating a small cloud of condensation as his warm breath hits the cold air of the room. Even now, he can practically hear the sound of those heels, taunting his bad decision – clanging against the cold steel floor; getting closer-

Wait.

_Getting closer?_

With a start, he nearly drops the page as he realises he’s not imagining that. The sound is unmistakable, Aranea’s heels clanking down the hallway; getting closer,

Closer,

Closer,

Until eventually they stop outside his door. There’s a brief pause of any sound; hesitation maybe? Before finally someone knocks.

Shoving the comic page back under his bed, carefully using it to cover the chocolate bar piece, he gets up off the bed and crosses the small room, reaching for the door and inputting the code. After the small ‘beep’ he pulls it open;

And is practically shoved aside as Aranea barges into the room.

“Jeez kid, made me think I had the wrong door or something. _Shit,_ it’s cold in here.” Yup, she’s just wandered right in, leaving Prompto stood awkwardly in the doorway staring after her as she lets her gaze roam over the contents of his room; before finally apparently remembering the blond and glancing back at him.

“What? Leaving the door open, kid? Ain’t it past curfew or something.”

Oh, yeah, it was.

He hastily shuts the door, leaning against it once it’s closed as he watches the Commodore move around his rather barren room; surprise likely still etched on his features.

“You’re-.. You’re here?” He blurts, stupidly.

That gets her attention though. “What can I say, had time to kill. Figured I’d come see my favourite recruit.”

There’s a tone there that he doesn’t quite understand; but the words are clear enough. Favourite recruit? They’d only met once- had he really made that much of an impression on the woman? And even so, that didn’t quite make sense- she’d looked busy earlier, and impatient. Surely, she had better things to do than spend time down in this section of the Keep.

“Cat got your tongue, blondie?”

Prompto’s not sure what a cat is, or why it would have his tongue, so he just nods dumbly and hopes that’s the right answer to the question.

It’s not – Aranea’s lips turn down in a frown as she regards him, before sitting herself down on the bed; actually bouncing slightly before glaring down at the mattress.

“They make you sleep on rocks here?”

Again, Prompto’s not sure what she’s saying; it’s not a rock, it’s material stuffed together with springs – although some are broken.

“It’s uh, it’s a mattress.” Prompto murmurs.

She barks a laugh, shaking her head. “Figure of speech, kid.” The laugh dies down though as she spots his expression; likely full of confusion, and with that, the brief smile on her lips disperses too. “Figure of speech? You do _know_ what that is, right?”

He doesn’t. There’s a moment where he feels panic rise in his chest; desperately trying to work out the meaning behind those words. Figure is like a person, but it can sometimes be a number. But neither of those definitions relate to speech; so that sticks him back at the beginning-

“I’m saying the bed is hard-.. It’s not soft. Figure of speech, when we say something to describe what we mean, without meaning it literally- Astrals that sounded better in my head.”

So, rock is hard, and so is the mattress; that’s the figure of speech. Prompto can’t help but ask;

“Are there more? Figures of speeches?”

“Figures of speech.” Aranea corrects; Prompto feels that tight feeling in his chest again. “Well, it’s cold as Shiva’s tits in here, if that’s what you mean.”

Shiva. The Astral, right, that explained the cold, but ‘tits?’

The question is apparently quite plain on his expression, because Aranea’s immediately raising an eyebrow before shifting her attention elsewhere – to the desk opposite the bed. “Another time kid, when you’re older.”

Okay, so seventeen years of commission is too young for figures of speech. Prompto’s head is already spinning and she’s only been here a good couple of minutes.

She’s swiftly changing the topic though. “Looks like someone got a promotion.” She states, absently gesturing to the armour neatly placed in the corner of the room, helmet resting on top.

“Low level security, it’s uh, checking passes and patrolling.” He doesn’t mention the incident from the hall earlier.

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s uh, yeah, fun-“

“No kid, I was being sarcastic.”

Sarcastic. Another word Prompto’s unfamiliar with. Does everyone speak like she does? He’s never had trouble understanding the instructors or other recruits before.

Again, Aranea’s caught his look of confusion, and she groans before running a hand over her face. Prompto immediately feels a pang of disappointment in himself; should he have known that? That Aranea was being ‘sarcastic’? But he doesn’t know what sarcastic is. He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again, casting his gaze down at the floor as he rubs the material between his fingertips.

“Said you were seventeen, right?” She’s changed the topic, and Prompto’s relieved for it.

“Yes.”

Making a thoughtful sound, she digs into her pocket and pulls out a small rectangular shape; a shape Prompto’s immediately familiar with. Another chocolate bar. That doesn’t make sense though – why is she rewarding him after he just made two mistakes? He didn’t know what a figure of speech was, and still doesn’t know what sarcastic is. Still, she’s waving it at him.

“Here, you look half starved to death.” Another figure of speech, Prompto assumes. Another test? Either way, he doesn’t budge from his spot by the door; despite having raised his gaze to the tempting treat. When he doesn’t move to take it, she groans and gets up, crossing the room before shoving it into his hand. “Go on, it’s not going to bite, kid.”

Apparently, he doesn’t have a choice, and he closes his grasp around it – still waiting for the trick of this exercise. Yet, there doesn’t appear to be one, as she’s back to surveying the room. He carefully unfolds a corner of the chocolate bar before raising the treat to his lips and biting into it.

It tastes just as good as he remembers.

The flavours mix and melt in his mouth, leaving his stomach turning in agreement with the food; his mouth watering as he takes another bite into the chocolate, and then another. Perhaps he’s being greedy, but he’s _hungry._

Aranea watches for a moment before sitting herself back down on the bed, gaze falling on the small gap in the duvet that Prompto had neglected to shove back. He’s too caught up in devouring the treat - savouring every bite – to notice her slip her hand down the side of the bed, and pull the comic page free.

He’s so distracted that when he finally returns his gaze to the woman, he feels his heart drop. Not only has she fished the comic page out from his hiding spot, she’s turning it over in hand and looking at the images, one eyebrow raised.

The floor might as well have given out from under him with what happened next.

“Where’d you find this, then?”

The words are barely audible over the panicked ringing in his ears; the world suddenly seeming far further away than it should have been. It’s a miracle he hasn’t dropped the chocolate bar in his hand – in fact, he’s now gripping it hard enough that he feels the bar break in his grasp.

“-.. Kid?”

They’re going to decommission him. They’re not allowed to own pieces from the outside; Aranea and the chocolate is different, she _gives_ him that, so that’s okay, right? This though, this will get him decommissioned almost immediately – especially as he’s had that page for so many years now.

Prompto’s barely aware that she’s placed the page down and crossed the room to him. He’s even less aware that he’s slipped to his knees by the door; though as she approaches, he immediately throws his hands over his head-

Curling in on himself.

“I’m sorry!” He blurts, barely aware whether Aranea’s saying anything or not as she crouches down in front of him. “It’s mine! I uh, I shouldn’t have it! I’m sorry!”

He’s practically rambling by this point; the chocolate bar falls from his grasp and hits the ground. Each breath inwards stings, and feels restricted; almost as if he’s wearing that helmet right now – despite the fact it’s on the other side of the room.

Aranea’s definitely saying something now; he catches a glimpse of her lips moving, but he can’t hear her.

He’d heard about recruits being decommissioned before; they weren’t ever heard of again and even the instructors refused to acknowledge their barcodes after that. He’d been friends with one, once. A girl, NH-01764. She’d been kind to him, unlike the others, but eventually she’d just disappeared. There had been rumours about _outside goods_ having been found in her room.

Decommission procedures were bad.

Really bad.

He was going to die, for a comic page. They were going to kill him for-

Aranea grabs at his face; roughly, forcing his head up to meet her gaze and his hands down to his lap. There’s a slight ‘smack’ as the back of his head hits the steel of the door – but it’s nothing serious. What it is though, is enough to briefly pull him out of his panic, to blink blearily and wildly up at the female in front of him. She doesn’t seem mad, but there’s not much softness in her expression either.

“Calm it, kid.” She snaps, before her tone lightens slightly. “Look, here.” She’s digging around in her pocket again, before drawing out the device from before, pressing it a few times, before shoving it into his hands.

Prompto glances down.

Bright and inviting as ever, is the beautiful picture of Leide. It’s just as amazing as he remembers it; and he immediately feels his breathing hitch before softening; relaxing. It’s a distraction from the previous panic, but it’s working.

Aranea shifts position slightly to kneel. “I’m going to ask questions. Just answer yes or no.”

That’s easy enough. That doesn’t involve too much thinking.

“Are you allowed that comic book page?”

He pauses briefly before answering; not taking his eyes off the screen in his hands. “No.”

“And something bad will happen if someone finds it?”

“Yes.”

“Shit, kid. You think I’ll do that bad thing?”

Prompto hesitates. Does Aranea have the command for that? Possibly not. Still, she said to answer yes or no.

“Yes.”

He hopes that’s the right answer.

There’s a pause as Aranea sighs, sitting back against the cold floor, one leg drawn up to her chest as she eyes Prompto. “I knew the Empire was going south, but this is a whole new level of fucked up. Kids as soldiers, ain’t even had a chance to see the outside.”

That’s not a question, so Prompto stays quiet.

“Have you ever been outside?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Prompto hesitates again; his grasp on the device tightening slightly as he looks down at Leide. Yes, he wants to go outside. He really, really wants to go outside. But that’s against his orders, right? He’s not allowed outside. No one is. But if he could-

“Yes.”

This time it’s Aranea who hesitates – briefly glancing around the room before sighing loudly. “Astrals, this’ll get me fired. Ah well, early retirement and all that. Figured my future was with the Empire, ain’t so sure about that right now.”

She reaches down and extends a hand. She wants the device back. He starts to pass it to her-

“No kid, I mean, get up.”  


_Oh_.

Taking her hand, Prompto pulls himself up to his feet. Aranea’s still watching him, but this time there’s something far softer on her expression. Prompto’s not sure what it is, but it’s a sad expression; that much is evident. He’s not sure what she’s sad about – whether it’s something related to him or the Empire.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, as she’s already shrugging her large coat off, before shoving it roughly in his direction. He takes it with one hand, staring at her in confusion.

“Well blondie, today’s your lucky day. How about a trip outside?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Where do you think Aranea will take Prompto? ;D


	3. Footprints In The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto gets his first experience of the outside, but things can't stay like this forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO FOLKS.  
> Guess who's back.  
> With regular updates.  
> Yeah, that's right, me! You guys better be ready for this rollercoaster of a fic, because here we gooooo

The coat's warm, and heavy. Not as heavy as his armour, but heavy enough that it occasionally has him tripping over his own feet with the strange weight. Prompto’s still not sure this is a good idea, even now as they march their way through the dark and deserted corridors of Zegnautus Keep. At some point Aranea had pulled a scarf free, and so the blond was now completely and utterly wrapped up in bundles of clothing, gaze just about peeking over the top of the crimson material. He’s learning a few things though: firstly, Aranea really doesn’t wait for anyone. Even now, she’s striding down the hall at a pace Prompto can barely match; back straight and purpose to her posture as each heel strikes loudly against the steel beneath.

“Keep up, kid.” She barks, as they finally turn a corner to the first staircase that leads further up into the facility above; up to what Prompto assumes is the ground-level. He’s heard instructors mention it before.

It’s a miracle he’s even remotely managing to keep himself moving. Maybe he shouldn’t have messed up so much this week – the lack of food is getting to him, slowing him down. Still, he blurts out a rather hasty: “Y-Yeah! Sorry!”

They round two more corners and climb another flight of stairs before Prompto’s starting to feel the heat from under the coat; though he’s not sure whether that’s simply from how thick it is or from the simple fact he’s beginning to realise something:

He’s worried.

No, he’s really worried.

These corridors are completely unfamiliar, and he can’t help but consider if he’s breaking some rules here. Aranea clearly holds a high enough rank, or at least, far higher than his. So, this is okay, right? He’s just following orders? Yeah, that’s fine. Orders are issued by those in a higher position than him and it’s his job to follow them without question. This is just another order; and it’s his job to comply. Even if this has some benefit for him; discovery.

The image of Leide is still fresh in his mind, and he’s able to picture each and every detail with surprising clarity. The orange colours that didn’t look like they belonged in Niflheim – the only orange Prompto’s seen is from fires; and those are usually in the training arenas. There’s a sense of danger though with those – a sense of danger to the colour orange, but for some reason he’s not afraid of the hues in the picture; almost as if they don’t have the dreaded connotations with them. There were some rocks too, stark in contrast to the orange hues, these ones were grey like the walls of the facility. Did that mean those rocks were cold too? Prompto’s seen rocks before. Sometimes the other trainee’s have them; bribing the guards to bring them in from the outside.

All Prompto knows about rocks is this:

If thrown at the right velocity and angle, rocks can hurt.

Sometimes, rocks can even break bones.

Rocks aren’t a good thing.

But, in this picture, this picture he recalls so well as they walk…

Rocks aren’t a bad thing. There’s something appealing about how they stood out against the orange landscape; how they cast shadows over the ground. Then, there was the biggest mystery of all: the big glowing thing in the picture. Maybe it’s a mistake; because it’s high up and floating. He’s never seen anything like it and he doesn’t even know what it’s called.

“Gil for your thoughts, kid?” Aranea muses, slowing her pace slightly as she glances back at him. Her gaze though is piercing and Prompto’s stomach does a flip. He doesn’t know what she means, so he just ducks his head back down and carries on walking.

There’s a brief silence before she sighs and tries again. “Alright, attempt two. What’s got you thinking so hard?”

Thinking isn’t difficult, but he tries to answer anyway:

“The picture.” He explains, not entirely sure what else to say. Was he supposed to be focusing on the mission at hand? Was this even a mission?

Aranea hums thoughtfully before continuing. “Right, Leide. You look like someone’s dropped a manual of MK schematics on you. Something bothering you?”

If he admits to that, is it a failure? Is this a test. The coat is even more overbearing as he stumbles in his footing slightly; luckily he isn’t given a chance to respond as Aranea slows in her steps in front. He shuffles a long before stopping just behind and peeking around to see what the pause is for.

There’s a Trooper approaching. Not one of the Magitek robots; probably another from his unit. It clanks down the hallway before stopping less than a metre from the pair, gun resting in both its hands.

“Identification.” It rumbles; though Prompto can just about hear the undertones of the human voice beneath.

Aranea’s already digging into the pockets of her trousers, pulling a card free and waving it in front of the Trooper’s face. “Got permission to take the kid top-side, recon mission so to speak.”

The Trooper doesn’t step aside and for a moment Prompto wonders whether it’s staring at Aranea, or at him – practically cowering behind. Which, isn’t difficult because the woman isn’t exactly much taller than his lean self.

“You hear me wrong or something, bolts? Step aside already.” Aranea snaps, Prompto’s pretty certain by this point that the guard’s gaze is on him rather than her; a scary prospect, but he forces himself to keep a neutral expression, rather thankful for the long sleeves that hide the shake in his hands.

Prompto’s pretty sure a lifetime has passed by the time it steps aside; no doubt a scrutinizing gaze hidden behind the cold metal grill that is tilted slightly in his direction. Aranea doesn’t seem bothered at all by it and immediately steps passed, waving her hand absently in the air in indication for Prompto to catch up. The coat around him is heavy but he does his best to quickly tap one foot in front of the other to close the distance between them.

It’s a miracle they’re not stopped again as they make their way through the rest of the Keep. A few MTs glance in their direction, but apparently tagging along with Aranea keeps them from approaching. It’s good, really. He’s not sure he’d be able to explain himself – why he’s doing this without a direct order. Is this an order though? She hadn’t said so explicitly. He hopes it is. The consequences for leaving his room without an order are…

Bad.

Real bad.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts he barely notices as Aranea stops dead in her tracks; just about able to stop himself walking straight into her back – by some unexplained miracle. She’s turning to face him, looking over his appearance before roughly reaching out a hand.

There’s something about the gesture that has him flinching, stepping back. He’s barely got a moment to acknowledge his own action before she’s rather swiftly and abruptly withdrawn the hand.

“Fix your scarf, kid. You’ll catch a cold like that.”

“R-Right!” Not exactly the most formal response, but Prompto’s swiftly tugging his scarf around his face to keep it warm, though it’s not until Aranea’s stepped over to the wall and shoved open a side door that he realises _why._

Immediately cold air blasts in through the door; an assaulting torrent that nearly pushes him back a step; a force so cold that he instinctively flinches from it and ducks further into the folds of his scarf. There are cold areas in the Keep, but nothing like _this._ This is new, an entirely new sensation that practically sucks his breath away from right in front of him. It’s chilling, bone-shaking-

It’s-

It’s exhilarating.

He doesn’t have much time to shiver in awe however, as Aranea’s clearly impatient; he feels her hand close around his and is roughly tugged out of the Keep into the cold night beyond, only illuminated by the occasional sweeping light. As his eyes adjust to the change in light, it becomes apparent that they’re stood next to a cargo-bay; by the several vacant trucks that line the surroundings. It’s hard to see, but Prompto can just about make out the glint of cages within; though why the military would need cages, he’s unsure.

But none of that matters, not once he’s looked up.

Up at the sight above him; beyond the diagonal shape of the keep.

At the millions of lights sparkling and lighting up the world’s ceiling. There’s hundreds of them, maybe more – Prompto tries to count them quickly, but swiftly gets lost somewhere in the eighty or ninety range. Each one seems to flicker on and off like a small, tiny far away lightbulb; and occasionally, if he stares long enough, one shoots across the sky in an unpredictable arc and vanishes in a burst of light.

Aranea’s waiting just infront of him, arms folded across her chest as she huffs; exhaling a small cloud of condensation in his direction. Still, she’s not pushing him forward like before, so he asks,

“Why are there so many lights on the ceiling?”

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to ask, because the confusion on her face is immediately apparent and Prompto feels a tug in his gut of embarrassment. To illiterate his point however, he raises one finger to the far away ceiling, and realisation dawns on her face; as she sucks in a small, sharp breath.

Whatever surprise on her expression is brief, replaced by cool indifference as she explains. Though there’s something off about her tone now. “Shit kid, that’s not- That’s not a ceiling. That’s the _sky._ ”

“Sky?” Prompto repeats, as if tasting the word on his tongue for the first time.

Aranea nods. “Yeah, imagine a huge empty space, that’s what it is- Shit I’m not good at explaining this.” She pauses for a moment, before continuing. “You know what candles are, right?”

Prompto nods.

“Alright, then imagine hundreds, thousands of them, but really far away. That’s what you’re seeing. Lots of fire, but far away.”

Thousands of flickering fires out of reach; burning up this... This _sky._ It’s beautiful.

“Come on, kid. Stick close to me now. Don’t need those buckets of bolts spotting you outside. Even I can’t explain that.” Aranea shrugged, stepping forward and offering him a hand.

He takes it; feeling a strange rising sense of freedom- though it’s not without worries. What if someone does catch him?

But he trusts Aranea. And this is an order, right?

The following walk has a lot of things Prompto doesn’t quite understand; strange forms with four legs and fur, huddled up against people trying to keep warm behind burning cylinders. No one bothers looking their way. They’ve slipped out through a hole in the fence, and Prompto guesses this is the place that the guards refer to as ‘Gralea.’ A city. The city that surrounds Zegnautus Keep – the very Keep he can see in the distance now, looming over the buildings that they’re now making their way around.

What’s probably most surprising is the crunch of white underneath his foot. When asked, Aranea briefly explained the concept of ‘snow.’ It’s like water, but colder? Prompto’s not sure he really understands; and hell, he’s got too many questions for that one to be his primary concern right now. Despite that, he doesn’t speak as they continue their way down _streets._

Aranea hasn’t let go of his hand and as they continue their journey, her grip only tightens to the point where he’s struggling to keep up; especially under the weight of his over-sized jacket and scarf. Just when he thinks he’s going to have to say something – to admit incompetence – she comes to a halt outside a new building.

“Right kid, all good?” She asks, glancing back. Prompto nods. That’s what she wants him to say, right? That’s he’s not totally freaking out right now.

With that said, she turns back to the door and raps her gloved knuckles on it a few times. Whoever’s behind wastes no time in sliding it open, and Aranea tugs him down the stairs and into the mouth of the beast.

The first thing that assaults Prompto’s senses is the _noise._

He’s not sure how to describe it; it’s a pulsating sound that is both heavy but pleasant on the ears, a sound that actually makes him want to crack a smile beneath the bundled scarf. It makes him want to _move._ But not in a bad way, not in a frightened way.

The second thing is just how many people there are. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, the room opens up into a large space; bright lights strobing across the room – across the crowd of people stood moving in the middle of it. There’s a counter along the far side, and several booths of seats on the right – it’s those that Aranea tugs him towards.

He thinks she tells him to stay put, barely audible over the pulsating sound, and then she’s gone. Her hand slips free of his and she’s pushing through the crowd over to the bar. So Prompto does as he’s told; he sits himself down on one of the cushioned seats – surprised at just how comfy it is, and leans into it. He’s still bundled up; but the heat from the lights and people is starting to get to him, so he reaches up and tugs the scarf free from his face.

As he slips the oversized coat undone; he’s able to glance over at the other booths. There’s no one else sat in them – everyone seems to be intent on moving together in the centre of the room. He’s not sure why. At Aranea’s absence, Prompto starts to feel that previous fear rising in his gut again; and he quickly bites back down on it – telling himself to start counting.

If he counts, he’ll calm down. Nothing else matters except the numbers.

One..

Two..

Fourty four..

Fourty five..

By the time he’s reached ninety six, Aranea comes back into sight; shooting him a brief inquisitive glance before settling her gaze on the scarf. She seems satisfied, shrugs, and moves to sit down opposite him. There’s two glasses in her hands with clear liquid; water, maybe? His throat’s immediately parched for such, but she doesn’t offer him one just yet. Instead, she raises her voice over the pulsating sound:

“Drink it slow, kid! It’ll warm you up.” And with that, she’s passing one of the glasses to him. Prompto clasps a thin hand around it and raises it to his face. The odour of the drink is strong, and he nearly flinches away from it- But he’s still shivering slightly against the previous cold and she’d said to drink it. Slowly.

Aranea’s already tipping her glass to her lips and taking a sip of it, so Prompto mimics that action and swallows some of the liquid.

And..

He’s immediately coughing as it hits the back of his throat; burning. Aranea leans across to thump against his back, laughing. She’s actually _laughing._

“I said slowly! You good? Great. Little less next time, blondie.”

When he’s finished coughing, he finally manages to blur out,

“Prompto.”

That catches Aranea’s attention, and her expression moves from amusement to confusion once more, perking a brow in his direction. He doesn’t give her a chance to question it, and simply adds,

“My uh, my name. It’s Prompto- I mean, it’s NH01987 but uh, it’s hard to remember and-“

He’s rambling again, which isn’t easy to do with the burn in his throat.

“Alright kid, Prompto it is.”

Prompto tips his drink to his lips once more; and that’s how they spend the rest of the evening. Surrounded by strobing lights and pulsating music; caught up in a world that Prompto doesn’t entirely understand, but Aranea’s easy acceptance of him – and occasional answers – are more than enough for now.

 

* * *

 

The next month passes swiftly. Outings with Aranea become somewhat of a more usual thing; Prompto’s even memorised the route from the Keep to the club, that’s what it’s called apparently, and sometimes has taken to sneaking out on his own and meeting her there instead – much to the Commodore’s amusement. His lessons aren’t going much better, especially with his stomach rumbling more than ever with each and every failure. It’s not just that though, the instructors have started mentioning the _deadline._

It’s simple enough: pass your tests, prove your worth, or simply be decommissioned. Prompto’s seen a few other recruits be dragged away for that already.

With his list of failures beginning to stack up tremendously, it’s only a matter of time before he’s going to end up in their place.

Aranea doesn’t ask him about his orders when they’re out; she doesn’t say much at all. She’ll answer questions though. He’s learned that the pulsating sound is _music_ and the people in the centre of the room are _dancing._

The fluffy four-legged creatures are called _dogs_ , and the people bundled around _fires_ are _homeless_. It means they have nowhere to go.

Prompto’s not sure he understands that. Aren’t they somewhere already? Out on the street. They don’t look happy though.

Is he happy?

Before he met Aranea, he’d been content with life at the Keep. Or well, he hadn’t known anything else; and now, just like in his comic page, he’s been exposed to an entirely new world with wonders, new words, new sights...

And now he’s facing the possibility of decommissioning.

Lucky for him, today is one of the few days where his schedule lacks any patrolling duty. It’s a free day. Ordinarily he’d spend it with other recruits in the lower regions of the Keep, earning extra credits for the exams- but today,

Today something is wrong.

He wakes up as normal at 0600 hours. There’s barely any light spilling into the room; only a slight slither from underneath his door. He can hear the familiar clank-clank of footsteps outside on the metal grates, the patrolling guards making their usual rounds at this hour. But today, it’s muffled. Almost as if there’s a blanket covering his head – but he’s already shoved the meagre excuse of a duvet aside. Perhaps he’d done that in the night, for a quick glance across the room shows it to be discarded to the floor.

He’s warm. That’s wrong too. The Keep has, and always will be, freezing. Yet right now it feels as if he hasn’t even left the club they’d been at a couple of days prior; almost as if the lights are still here and baring their weight down on the blond as he raises a hand to shield his eyes from an unseen foe. Even that movement is difficult, as his muscles feel heavy and seem to work against him – making them heavy and unresponsive.

Is he faulty? Is this a fault?

He hopes not. Someone will realise.

They’ll realise and discard him.

Just like that.

He’ll never see another dog again. Or a fire. Or the millions of lights in the sky.

It’s those thoughts alone that have him pushing himself up to sit; groaning as the room takes a rather sudden pitch forward – his vision spinning briefly as he tries to regain his bearings. Once it steadies, he pushes himself to his feet, shoving a hand out to catch a hold of his desk to avoid falling forward when the same effect hits him again. It’s okay- It’s totally okay- it’s just a side effect from training yesterday- that has to be it.

That’s totally it.

It’ll pass.

He just has to get some food; food seems like a really good idea right now. Maybe he can bribe one of the other recruits. With..

With what?

Slowly, his brain catches up to his plan and he recalls the last piece of chocolate stashed away under his bed. Under the bed that suddenly seems a million miles below him- the bed he’d just got up from. Okay, no, he can do this.

Slowly, Prompto places his other hand on the desk and tries to turn around, eyes set as best as he can on the edge of the bed – though it keeps jerking out of position, sending a sickening feeling through his stomach. It takes him a good ten minutes or so to finally manage to face the mattress – now he just has to move along it to where he’s stashed the comic and chocolate.

One step at a time, that’s all it takes.

One foot aside the other. One hand carefully pressed against the rail on the edge of the bed. The metal is cool and refreshing against his clammy hands.

Finally, he reaches over for the other side of the bed-

And slips.

Vaguely he’s aware of a loud crack, and his vision swirls to black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!  
> What could be wrong with him?! D: ;D


	4. New Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto falls in and out of consciousness as the world moves around him and plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time folks because I want to split this one! Next one will be up towards the end of the week before I head off to KupoCon. Next chapter will be back to 4k words~
> 
> Also! Check out my other new fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13493292/chapters/30943839

“-mpto?”

The voice is distant, and as Prompto stirs from.. From what? Had he been asleep. Even his best attempts couldn’t drag such information to the surface, nor could he quite get his body to react to his mental awareness; he feels numb, limp, sore and can’t move. That alone is enough to send a shock of fear through him, the absolute fear of being unable to respond to whatever orders were being spoken to him.

“Prompto?! Hey ki-“

That one sounds more urgent, but he still can’t drag himself to complete consciousness. He feels cold, horribly cold. Almost as if he’d managed to wander outside of the base into Niflheim’s frozen winds, face first. Vaguely, he’s aware of someone moving him and in a hurry at that. There’s the faint sound of something striking steel in a rhythmic pattern. It’s familiar, but Prompto can’t quite place it in his daze, nor can he force his body to co-operate enough to open his eyes.

That’s okay though, right?

If he’s decommissioned, it’ll be better if he doesn’t know about it.

Somewhere in the distance there’s another demanding voice, answered by a separate one. Two people. But Prompto’s already slipping away again, falling into the depths of whatever mental abyss is dragging him away from the chill and ache of his body.

Suddenly, it doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he comes to it’s far warmer. Almost uncomfortably so. There are voices around him again, not too close but in hearing proximity. Everything’s so hot though; unlike before, this time it’s as if someone’s put him on furnace duty in the Keep and he tries to squirm uncomfortably against the heat. It does nothing to relieve the burning sensation but it does halt the conversation he’d previously been focused on.

An unfamiliar voice speaks, but Prompto only catches the latter half of the sentence. “-ds burning up.”

The voice is deep and Prompto’s immediately reminded of the instructors at the Keep. Had they found him, he’d… Collapsed, right? He could vaguely recall that he’d tried to reach for the chocolate bar and slipped. Did that mean they’d found the comic and bar? Was he being decommissioned? That explained the heat, right?

There was a reason the Keep had furnaces.

“-won’t survive this.” The voice continues, the same serious tone lining the words. He doesn’t quite catch the reply of the second voice in the room, but it’s familiar. He just can’t place from where. There’s a beat of silence before he feels a hand around the back of his neck, gently lifting him forward slightly before pressing something cold against his lips.

It’s a glass. He thinks.

Whatever it is, it’s tipped and he feels what he can only assume is water fill his mouth and just about manages to swallow it. There’s not much, but it eases the burning sensation in his throat slightly as he’s lowered back down.

“Kid’s strong. He’ll get through this, besides… mo-.. sh..” Although his attention begins to drift towards the end of that sentence, the second voice is definitely familiar. Sharp, but caring; with an incredible sense of authority.

Aranea.

That calms his nerves slightly, but he’s already slipping away again. It’s a relief too – everything’s still too hot and all he wants to do is escape the flames.

 

* * *

 

 

The third time he wakes, it’s to another conversation. Prompto’s not sure how much time has passed, still unable to force his eyes open against a new pounding headache and the return of the previous chills.

“The freight liners depart every night. Wouldn’t be too hard to sneak him on there.” Aranea’s voice cuts through the pounding in his skull.

“What about you?”

“What can I say, military’s going south. Not my problem. I’ll pick up something else, go back into mercenary work perhaps.”

“King Regis could-“

“What? Shelter me? Thanks but no thanks. Just take care of the kid. He didn’t deserve any of that.”

There’s a pause before the man answers. “None of them do.”

“Yeah well, the others weren’t so keen to be sneaking out at night.” Aranea scoffs. Prompto hears movement, and assumes she’s moved over to him. “Kid should be in school, with friends. Not firing weapons and patrolling corridors.”

He feels someone press a palm to his forehead – more than likely Aranea as her voice is still close. It’s hard to listen to what she says next, and he already feels himself drifting again. Only this time, he’s determined to stay awake and keep tabs on the conversation around him; despite how much his head protests the decision.

“Three days, Aranea. Sort him out by then and I’ll consider taking him back with me.”

Aranea scoffs, amusement lining her words. “Consider? Right, like you haven’t made that choice already. Give it up Leonis, you’re as soft as I am.”

“Think what you will. I’ll infiltrate the railway and get a schedule of the freight liners. We’ll need to know which carts are less occupied and monitered.” The man, Leonis, remarks. There’s the sound of a door and the room falls silent.

He hears Aranea sigh one more time before finally letting himself fall back into the depths of unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Light assaults his eyes the next time Prompto wakes, and for the first time he blinks his gaze open and against it; blurry vision finally focusing on an open window and the sky beyond. The sky looks different though; it’s not black, instead it’s a mixture of whites and greys – a bit like the walls of the Keep, but less imposing. There’s something beautiful and relaxing about how the colours mix together and move across his sight. They look fluffy, almost. As if he could reach out and touch them, and if he could – would they be as soft as the blanket on his bed?

That’s when he realises.

This isn’t his bed.

The sheet is strangely thick and heavy; but surprisingly comfortable despite it’s weight. The room he’s in is bright – partially from the light from the window. There’s two sofa’s on the opposite end with a table in the middle and various mugs are dotted about upon it’s surface. There’s lots of papers and reports too, but Prompto can’t see what they detail from where he’s led.

His head is still pounding, and there’s a strange rumbling in his stomach that shifts occasionally with a sickening twinge. Carefully, he slides both hands to press down against the bed and pushes himself to sit up, groaning as the room takes a rather violent lurch from the movement. In reflex, he immediately clasps a hand over his mouth and leans forward, closing both eyes tight against the nauseating experience.

After a few seconds it passes, but the same lingering nausea remains as he opens his eyes again and glances around the room. Asides from the sofas and table there isn’t much else there asides another room off to his right. There’s a rustling in there, the sound of water,

And finally Aranea steps into the room. She’s dressed.. Well, in less than Prompto’s ever seen her in. A long shirt clings loosely to her form, dark trousers underneath. She looks tired, but even more so, she looks surprised to see the blond sat up.

“Huh, looks who’s back from the dead.” She remarks, apparently before realising her mistake. “Not that you actually died, kid.” Good, because he’d almost panicked. “Figure of speech.”

He remembered those. Words that weren’t literal and had a different meaning. Or something like that. So he hadn’t died.

“W-W..here?” He croaks out, before realising just how hoarse and dry his throat is.

He’s about to ask for it when Aranea steps to the small bed table he’d neglected to notice and plucks up a glass of water. She seems to think twice about letting him hold it and instead perches on the edge of the bed. Prompto raises one shaky hand to the glass as Aranea guides it to his lips and tips it for him.

The water’s more than a relief as it slides down his throat as he sips at it. It immediately cools the previous burning sensation, and he’s careful not to drink too much or too fast.

After a minute, Aranea sets the glass back down on the table before answer the previous question. “Owner owed me a favour. You’re still in Gralea, kid. Just not that damned Keep.” There’s a touch of anger in her tone as she finishes talking, but Prompto’s pretty sure it’s not directed at him.

“Am I being re-assigned?” He asks, thinking back to the conversation he’d overheard. They’d mentioned freight liners.

Aranea blinks in surprise, “No, kid. That’s not it-“

“Decommissioned, then?” He feels his stomach drop as he asks it, already expecting the worst.

“No! Six, no. Nothing like that.”

He doesn’t understand. Is he here under orders? Why was he here at all – shouldn’t he be in the infirmary if he’d been found unfit for duty. Or worse, decommissioned.

“Look, kid- Prompto, even.” Aranea sighs, focusing her attention back on Prompto’s own worried gaze. Something about her own expression softens slightly as she exhales, before continuing to speak.

“What they’re doing in there, it isn’t normal. Okay? Guys your age should be out.. Out there-“ She gestures to the window. “Doing something with their lives. Picking up a hobby, job, something like that. Not being trained to kill or poisoned against their will.”

Poisoned? Hobby? Job? He really doesn’t understand now.

“I’m taking you to Insomnia. Or, a friend is. I can’t leave Gralea just yet. Glad you finally woke up, the freight liner leaves tonight.”

Prompto’s head is spinning as he tries to process it. His orders are to leave Gralea? That doesn’t make any sense, but he’s also in no position to be questioning orders. Slowly, he realises Aranea’s expecting some kind of response, and rather bluntly blurts out;

“Yes.”

“Uh, okay. I don’t think I’m explaining this correctly-“ Aranea groans, and Prompto feels his stomach turn; he’s causing trouble for her.

“You’re what, seventeen? Eighteen? I can’t remember, besides. You’re just a kid, and you need to have a normal life. Not some shitty military assignment that will just get you killed.”

He’s still staring blankly at her. Normal life? Isn’t his life normal already. All the other recruits have the same routine, same dormitories,-

“Leide.” She remarks abruptly, breaking Prompto out of that line of thought.

“You want to go there, right? You wanted to see the sun.”

The sun.

The bright object in the photograph, that had seemed both so very warm and so very far away. Something in his heart ached for him to be stood in that exact location; but in real life.

“Well, you can. Just follow my- Follow Cor’s orders.” Prompto doesn’t know who Cor is. He only knows Aranea, and has heard someone called Leonis. But this is the first clear information Aranea has provided him with. He’s to follow another officer’s orders.

That he can do.

So, he nods. “I’ll uh, I’ll go to Leide.”

Aranea bites on her lip, but nods. “And then to Insomnia. Where you’ll live a normal life, kid.”

A normal life.

Prompto isn’t sure what that means. But maybe by the time he gets to Insomnia, he will.

Aranea gets up from the bed, running a hand through her hair as she looks down at him. “Potions ain’t doing much for you, so get some more rest. I’ll wake you later. We’re leaving at night- at nineteen hundred hours.”

19:00. He’ll leave for Leide.

“Okay.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, hesitating slightly, but retreats to the other room regardless as Prompto settles back against the bed.

These are his new orders.

This is okay. He can obey a new superior officer.

He can go to Leide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think ;3


End file.
